Associations

It was around five o’clock; the sun was beginning to dip into the level of the skyscrapers along the horizon, casting beams of light between the cracks in the buildings. Peter swooped low in the wide street, feet coming up just above the height of the double decker bus on his left. The passengers on the open topped level cheered and waved at him, and he waved back, smiling under his mask. “Wassuuuppp!!!” he hollered, shooting past. 

He attached another web to a building further ahead, pulling to the left and around a nearby corner, watching the ground blur past underneath him as he kept an ear out for trouble. His arms burned with the cords of tension brought about by his daily acrobatic feats, and he reveled in the feeling. 

He swung around for a while longer, settling when he found the streets to be relatively quiet. In the past hour, he'd only helped one very upset little girl - a matter resolved by helping her get her demon cat, who apparently had a personal vendetta against Peter, out a tree - and an elderly woman that he'd walked across a busy intersection. Soon, though, he was jumping to the ground at his normal spot - a relatively empty corner not far from his place, where he often changed in one of the alleys nearby. He ducked into the one on his right and peeled off his mask, crouching to pull his bag from underneath the dumpster. He unzipped it and rifled through, pulling out a hoodie and sweats. He took a whiff of himself. Shrugged. He’d only been out for just over a couple of hours - a short day since he was running low on web fluid - so he didn’t feel like it was necessary to go through the whole process of taking his suit off first. He ended up just tugging his clothes on over it, only pulling off his gloves and boots. His suit was pretty crappy, if he was being completely honest, but he could deal. It was easy enough to stitch up, and, if worse came to worst, he could just buy a new set - the blue and red spandex fabric he used being readily available. 

He stuffed his belongings into his bag and slipped it over his shoulder, strolling out the alley. Delmar’s was only a couple of blocks away, and he headed on over. The man seriously was a blessing, just like his sandwiches - best in Queens - and Peter was ready to have a go at it against anyone who suggested otherwise - everywhere else totally used too much bread. 

The bell jingled as he stepped inside the store, and Delmar looked up at him, pulling on a grin. “Well if it isn't my most loyal customer,” he greeted, waving Peter over.

“Hey Mr. Delmar,” Peter replied, smiling as he sidled up to the counter. He grabbed a pack of sour gummies, plopping them down next to the register. “Just that and the usual,” he said.

The man nodded, snapping on a pair of gloves and beginning to prep. “Four sandwiches comin’ right up.”

“With extra pickles -”

“-and smashed down real flat,” Delmar finished, chuckling. “I know, Peter, I know.”

Peter shrugged with a helpless grin and turned to sit at one of the little side tables meant for dine in customers while he waited. Murph padded up to him, twisting around his ankles and letting out deep, rumbling purrs. He grinned and reached down to pet the cat, stroking his fingers through the long fur. “What a cute kittie,” he approved, voice pitched up in a way specifically meant for small animals and children. “Nothing like the gremlin from earlier,” he cooed. Murph mewed, rubbing his head against Peter’s palm. 

“They’re all yours Pete,” Delmar called, regaining Peter’s attention. He stood, giving a tiny wave to Murph and walking back to the counter.

“Thanks, Mr. Delmar,” he smiled, grabbing the to-go bag and going to the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow!” 

-

It only took a handful of minutes for Peter to reach the usual spot, and he breathed out a quiet sigh of relief that he wasn’t too early. 

“Hey, Joe!” he called, practically skipping down the alleyway. 

The man looked up slightly, eyes still shadowed by his low brimmed cap, and gave a small nod of acknowledgement. “Pete.”

“Sorry it’s kinda early man,” Peter apologized, coming to a stop a few feet away.

The man huffed, remaining seated against the corner step of one of the doors to the side exit of a building, elbows resting lightly against his knees. Peter could imagine he was rolling his eyes, and he stifled a laugh as he dug around in the bag, pulling out a couple of the sandwiches and stepping forward to pass them to Joe, who took them gently. “Thanks.”

Peter smiled brightly. “No problemo!” 

He moved back a couple of feet and gave a quick glance at the ground to make sure it wasn’t too grimy, taking a seat on the concrete and pulling out one of his own sandwiches as Joe unwrapped his. They ate in companionable silence, the sounds of chewing the only thing between them. A car honked in the distance.

Peter swallowed his mouthful, crumpling up the wrapper of his first sandwich. “So why’re you here now?” he asked, unfolding the brown, waxy paper off his second cuban and taking a large bite.

Joe shrugged noncommittally, worn, black leather jacket crinkling. “Couldn’t find work,” he admitted, lips twitching downwards for a brief moment before settling.

Peter hummed, picking at the crust. “I could look up some stuff?” he offered.

Joe gave a shake of his head, long, dark strands of hair swaying. “‘S’alright Pete.” 

Peter sighed, setting down the remaining half of his sandwich. “I know you can manage, Joe. It’s just not fair - you’re a great guy! You shouldn’t have to stay out here like this.”

The man had stopped chewing for a moment as Peter spoke, but he resumed quietly, waiting for several moments before responding. “Life’s not fair,” Joe countered levelly. “...And I’m not,” he said. Peter tilted his head in question. “A great guy,” he clarified, shoulders curving slightly. 

Peter’s brows furrowed. “...I guess I can’t really say I know you,” he admitted. Joe bowed his head further. “But we’ve been hanging out for, what? Like, three months, now? And I think that’s enough for me to decide that you’re a pretty okay dude,” Peter finalized, sending another smile at the man.

“You don’t even know my name,” he pointed out.

Peter shrugged, smile turning impish. “You’re Joe to me.”

He had the distinct impression that the man was squinting at him. “Where’d that name even come from?”

Peter gasped in mock surprise. “I didn’t tell you?!” he exclaimed, hand held over his heart, getting mayo on his shirt. His superpowered hearing made out the sound of a soft snort from his companion. He grinned, shrugging again. “I thought John was too on the nose.”

“John?”

“You know, like, John Doe,” Peter explained. 

The man's lips thinned, and Peter leaned forward hesitantly. Joe hastily stood, chin tucked into the collar of his shirt. “I gotta go,” he said, giving a jerky nod to Peter before briskly turning away down the other end of the alley.

“I’m sorry, man, I wasn’t tryna say anything,” Peter called after him, quiet but still loud enough to be heard, tone genuine and apologetic. He didn’t get up from his spot, though, not wanting to make the guy more uneasy than he clearly already was.

The latter dipped his head, hair falling forwards and off his back. He turned the corner, and Peter barely made out the faint, meant to be unheard reply that came in a voice roughened but still below a whisper. “I know.”